Sneakers
by transcontinental
Summary: Struggling screenwriter Derek Venturi gets an invitation to the McDonald/Richards wedding. Will Derek, as Casey's best man, have the heart to sabotage the wedding just to have her? Derek & Casey; Sam & Casey; Edwin & Lizzie
1. Chapter 1

**A/U: _Why am I starting a new story? WHY? Oh well, hope you guys enjoy it. It's different...I like it._**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Cheers.**

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"Sneakers."

I stared at her with a blank expression. She had one hand firmly placed on the curve above her hip and another hand brandished at my feet.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, narrowing them and setting her jaw. I was so confused. One minute we were getting ready to order for dinner and the next, Ashley, my girlfriend of three years, was standing up with furrowed eyebrows, a screwed up crying expression, and her arms crossed over her chest. She sighed dramatically.

"_Derek! _You wore **sneakers **on our _anniversary_?"

My eyebrows shot up. It was our anniversary? Well...that sucks. I shrugged. I bet a thousand bucks—no, fifty thousand bucks—I wore sneakers on our first, second, _and_ third date too.

"Uh huh. What's so wrong with that? You're wearing make-up. I hate make-up. It gets all over my clothes and some of the stuff you wear seriously gives me major hives. You should check into that. It can't be good for your skin at all."

I looked back down at the menu I had been staring at moments prior while Ashley started screaming uncontrollably at the top of her lungs. Think Janice in season 2 of Friends. Everyone in the restaurant seemed to turn their attention toward the two of us. Honestly, I just wanted Ashley to turn the volume of her turn-stop shriek down just a tad. And you know what? Maybe so prime mushu pork too.

"UHG! DEREK IT'S ALWAYS THE FUCKING SAME WITH YOU! MY _GOD_!"

I nodded.

"Yeah, babe…for sure. Um, honey? Could you maybe speak at a volume suitable for human beings, because I'm pretty sure the inhabitants of Pluto are shutting off all of their satellites in order to drown out the likes of you. I'm just sayin, if there are aliens out there they probably want to destroy earth because you're yelling so loud."

She shut her mouth and glared at me in silence. Ahh…the pure bliss.

"Awesome, thanks. Uh, waitress? Maria? That's your name, right? I'll have the mushu pork—and maybe a little bit of heroin on the side as well, my girlfriend's feeling a little 'cranky' today, if you catch my drift. Thanks, babe."

"_DEREK! You did not just call that girl babe!_ You know what? It's over! And I mean for real this time! We're not just going to end up hooking up and getting back together like the last time, it's _really _over!"

"Would you like white rice or fried rice with your mushu pork?"

I looked up at the waitress. Hot stuff.

"Which do you prefer?"

She smiled, her almond eyes twinkling.

"White rice. Definitely."

I smiled back. I know when games are being played, and I sure as hell enjoy them.

"White rice it is."

Cheshire grin? Check. Maria giggled and walked away. Even at twenty-four I've still got it like no tomorrow.

"DEREK!"

I sighed. _Jesus, would you please shut the fuck up?_

"Yes, Ashley?"

"Did you hear me?" she said, annoyance knotted into her tone.

She had blue eyes. Her eyes were what made me fall in love with her and as I stared at them, examining the small flecks of yellowy green that planted themselves stationary around the iris, I sighed. Ashley's eyes weren't _really_ blue. They were brown. She wore colored contacts. After a while I realized I loved those blue eyes because the color reminded me of someone else, and I also realized that Ashley was just as manufactured as those contact lenses, which made me slightly sick.

"Yeah, Ash, I heard you. Everybody heard you. Please sit down and order, and then you can go home. Don't worry, Ash, I'll pay for the meal. So, how was your day?"

Ah…the joys of being annoying and good at it.

Ashley rolled her eyes huffed, but that didn't stop her from sitting down and ordering a hefty ammount of mandarin orange chicken. Funny how things work out sometimes.

Any-who, that's how I broke up with Ashley (and also how for one solid night, ended up with Maria).

But alas,

_("WHAT? You're gay? Really? But you're great in bed!")_

I made an honest man's decision and broke up with Maria too.

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I'm a teacher.

Yeah, yeah, I know. What the fuck am I teaching for? I'm mother fucking Derek Venturi. I'm supposed to be a successful something or other with a big-boobed bimbo wife who can't think for herself or shop without a platnium gold card, three popular yet overtly drama-induced children, and a wide-spread known affair by now. Well, I took a more artistic turn when it came to the grand scale of things, and I'll tell ya, Hollywood is one fucking bitch. It takes everything just to get a solid screenplay written and then after it's written you have to wheel and deal with the right people just to weasle your way past bodyguards and locked gates. I've got three kickass screenplays, one beautiful Avonte Garde piece set to rock the socks of the independent world, and the two others? Ready to be box-office smash hits.

My problem?

Not enough money for the wheeling and dealing part...or the weasling part...not even enough money to strike up any small deals with managers, agents, or personal studios.

Hence the teaching job, which actually doesn't suck as much as it seems. The kids are all pretty intelligent for juniors in high school and I've been hit on more than ever in my entire life. About twenty-seven times a day by students (girls and boys alike), thirteen times by janitorial staff, twelve times by teaching staff...I've even been hit on by the questionable school mascot (go Rattlers...yay...). None of it matters though.

Yesterday, or the day things with Ashley ended, I wasn't being an asshole out of pure spite...Well, I probably would've acted the same way despite my reasonings, but still. Yesterday I recieved a questionable bit of information in the mail that sent my mind into a tailspin. Actually, it was more like a formal invitation.

An invitation to a wedding.

A wedding where I was to be guest of "honor" as the best man.

So, uh, Sam's getting married, but he's not the one who invited me...Actually, I'm not even sure he's over everything that happened when we were in high school together yet...

But it won't matter because in two weeks I'm taking leave off work and away from California so I can go all the way to fucking London. And why, might you ask?

Because Casey needs someone to be her "maid of honor" so I, because I am her "best friend", am dealt with the task of being the best man of the woman I may or may not still get morning wood over every now and again. Seriously, I should have just married Ashley, moved to Pasadena, and jumped off the ledge of a skyscraper.

It would have been much less complicated.

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**Well there you have it. Chapter Numero Uno. I hope you liked it a lot. Please Review, they're greatly appreciated.**


	2. Author's Note

**Author's Note-**

Hey kidders, sorry I haven't uploaded any new chapters, this whole week's been pretty hectic. I have two projects due for school that I've been BUGGIN over (and so have my professors, which is just grand) and my niece is getting baptized so I've been out of town and my comfy single-person apartment (god I miss my apartment...) planning a party for her and my family at my mom's place (without my lovely computer and shitty couch-bed) not to mention my car broke down and I have to wait an extra two days after easter before I head home (GAAAHAHHHHHHH) so that's what's been up because usually it only takes me two (maybe three if things are a little on the rocks) days to get out a new chappie.

In any sense,

Good news: four reviews already AND I LOVE **kthxilyxxx**, **beepersheartsbrucas**, **YouKnowYouLoveMe xoxo Brianna**, and **Lady Azura** for it very very much. You guys are seriously the wind beneath my wings.

Bad news: Won't have new chappie up until late Sunday, early Monday (but there will be two so I can make up for lost time).

I heart every single one of you and have a Happy Easter (or, you know...have a Happy Sunday if you don't go for all that commercialism crap).

**Love,  
Jules**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing :) Cheers.**

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"Would you look at the girl on that ass?"

I ignored Ralph as I quickly began rummaging through the many travel guides set up outside of the boarding gates beside me. After high school which includes Nora and George's great schism, as I like to refer to it as, the McDonald's got the house, the cars, the dog (but technically Lizzie found it back when she was in the eighth grade so that wasn't too much of a heartbreaker), and the TV (oh noble TV…). The Venturi's got the DVD player (because one needs a DVD player even if one doesn't have a motherfucking television to go with it), the furniture (so we could kick back and watch our DVD player and ambitions sink into quicksand and Plexiglas), and Ralph.

Joyous Ralph.

Ralph decided he wanted to come with me to California about fifteen minutes before I started driving out to the airport. We were newly graduated studs out to embark on the mission of missions.

One embarked by every college-bound high school graduate since the beginning of time. The mission to find the most wasted college whores out there and have a good fucking time.

I was excited, he was excited. We both had just gotten out of some sticky relationships so running away was the only option. As I sat in my little navy blue chair reading all about the many extravagancies of Reno I chuckled to myself as shear irony sank into my skin. We were going back to the place we had gone out of our way to try and forget.

And this was not a question of force, but free will. We were willingly returning to the place where both of our lives had slowly become nothing but the passing of a blunt joint outside the science lab. I rolled my eyes and sat back, contemplating why. Why was I putting myself into such a miserable position? And then I remembered I was doing it for Casey. I had to do it for Casey.

"D, I'm serious, that girl was…they don't make em' like that anymore."

This was a statement Ralph often made. I guess by saying that statement it evoked a sense of false pride within him, as though he was simply admiring the female physic, when really he was being an asshole.

But, you know…it happens.

"Yeah, I saw her. Her ass was great—when do we board?"

Why is it that coach is always the shittiest place in the world to be? It's never "Oh, coach! Yes! Fucking free headaches and tiny pissing spaces!"

It's always (and will always be) "Motherfucking coach…this sucks so many hairy monkey balls that instead of fucking 'coach' it should be fucking 'choke'…"

Or, you know, maybe something a little less graphic for any self-respecting human beings, but I look around and all I see is premeditated suicide, so I'm bankin that everyone feels the same way…

"Wait, man, here she comes, here she comes! Oh, look at that…I'm feeling it, man I'm fucking feeling it…and she's gone."

I was still gripping the Reno, Las Vegas brochure for support. Ralph had taken to pointing out every mildly attractive female that happened to mosey on over to our neck of the woods because they needed fast access to the bathroom. I felt bad for every single one of them. They didn't even know how much they were being degraded by the dirty mind of my fucking lunatic of a friend…I probably would've said something but I was too preoccupied with the fucking slaughter of my eardrums due their excessive popping. Every two minutes they would pop and I would counteract that popping by popping another piece of gum into my mouth and chewing at top speeds, as if that would remedy anything, but obviously, uh no. The only upside was that my breath would be overwhelmingly minty fresh.

If that's really much of an upside…

"Ralph…that woman had to be about forty-eight."

He shrugged as if this could never and would never matter to him (and honestly, it really really couldn't/wouldn't.)

"Older women are more experienced…you know, like Nora."

And thank you for playing Inappropriate Things to Say on a Plane (or anywhere else in the universe or a parallel universe for that matter…).

It would then take two hours of festering, eight more pieces of gum, and thirteen more bathroom-bound women before the image of Nora sprawled out on the floor slinked on back out of my brain. Jesus Christ…there are some things people should just keep to themselves…

There were some other things I was trying not to think about, but couldn't help but do so as the plane descended back down to the ground. Ralph had fallen asleep (thankfully) so I was left with nothing my own subconscious (well…if you don't count the little girl in the seat across from mine who kept batting her eyelashes at me and asking if I wanted to pet her dolly…yeah, I know…I need help.)

I couldn't stop myself even if I tried. Whenever I close my eyes I see it all over again. Every second of it. It's like a movie poured out into my brain…I've written a screenplay for it…it's probably my best work but I'll never give it to anyone. Sam and Casey could pass away—they could give me their blessing for all I care. I would never let anyone know what transpired between us…

It's too heavy…even for me.

I am twenty-four fucking years old. I have sex with another woman practically every night. I am a teacher (if that's what you really want to call sitting in front of a bunch of kids, telling them school is bullshit). And I fucked a girl for three whole years just because she slightly resembled my practically unattainable ex-girlfriend/step-sister.

I can't fucking sleep at night without popping pills, I feel like as ass-hat all the time…and Jesus Christ, I'm actually doing this for her.

I'm actually going to my home town so I can be a little kissass, do every little shit thing she tells me to do, cater to her every want and need, jerk myself to sleep, and then watch her marry my best friend who I don't even fucking talk to anymore.

God, I really do need help.

As the seatbelt sign blinks off I am faced with a big decision. I could either be a man, get up, and face my past or I could board the next plane back to California where I would find some brunette with blue eyes, fuck her, and then go to sleep wishing I wasn't such a pussy.

Slowly, I stood up and walked Ralph and my carry-on luggage out the plane's bigass door.

I didn't even stop to thank the hot flight attendant…

Did I mention I really need some fucking help?

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**Hope you guys enjoyed it. Next one will most likely be up later on tonight.**


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